


A Charming Man

by Hellion (helli0n)



Category: Motionless in White (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helli0n/pseuds/Hellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the tense work relationship between Ricky and Chris during the writing of Infamous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Charming Man

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine after all that talk of dark, moody stories up at the top, I post this one first. Well...there will be more stories, I'm sure.

This was not charming, Ricky decided, watching Chris shuffle to the coffee maker at precisely ten thirty in the morning, grumbling that the coffee maker was off.

Yes, it was off, Ricky thought. It turned on at six and waited patiently for me to shower and dress and get my notebook and pen on the table before pouring any. It stayed on, dutifully, for you, for three hours, and gave up at nine. It gave you longer than I did. I gave up at eight. Yes, your coffee is cold and so are your bare feet on the wooden floor, Christopher Cerulli, you piece of shit.

Chris hadn’t showered for the past day and a half and if there was one thing that did not cooperate with tour conditions, it was Chris’ hair. It knew when he was even an hour late at shampooing it. His constant bane. He lied and worked water through his hair with his fingertips and a comb after shows sometimes to satiate it. Until it dried, no one could tell the difference. Ricky could always tell.

Still grumbling, Chris shot Ricky an uncertain, wide-eyed look. Big man, big talk, big softie.

Ricky blinked deliberately and took a sip of his own coffee before returning to filling his moleskin. By his mental clock, he guessed it was a full three minutes before Chris realized he could pour coffee in a mug and reheat it in the microwave. Fucking  _baby_.

Lifting his head when he heard Chris pouring all sorts of creamer and sugar into his mug, Ricky raised his eyebrows in polite enquiry. “Will you need the bathroom before we leave to meet Sköld for lunch?”

Two men, two bedrooms.  _One_  bathroom.  _One_  car in Los Angeles lunch-rush traffic. Ricky couldn’t wait to wrap up the damn album.

Chris was standing on the far opposite end of the kitchenette, his lower back pressed against the edge of the granite countertop, practically hiding behind his mug as he busily sipped at it. He shrugged. “Nah, I’ll just touch up my makeup.”

 _Disgusting_.

Ricky returned to his notes, scratching busily away, shaking his head slightly. “It’s one of those high-end sidewalk cafés; you might wanna shower…”

It was so quiet that he looked up to find lethal eyes floating over the rim of Chris’ coffee mug busily analyzing his words. For a second, Ricky’s heart seized painfully. Chris was mad at  _him_. Chris was mad at him and would kick him out of the band, or get  _really_ angry… Not that Ricky’s comment wasn’t justified; not that Chris was allowed to walk around posh Los Angeles streets with scum hair and musky regions just because he dabbled in dark rock and roll… He was really saving him from himself.

To his surprise, though Chris lowered his mug and twisted his lips this way and that, gnashing his teeth behind them, he simply set his mug down hard on the counter and slunk out of the room, face harboring all the fury of a storm.

In the tense minute that followed, Chris’ bedroom door opened and slammed and then the bathroom door did the same. Locked. Ricky tilted his head as the fan and then shower came on. He had to admit: it felt pretty damn good bossing around his six-foot-one boss successfully. Sure, the car ride would still be terse and Chris would probably be snobbish and silent the rest of the day, but at least he wouldn’t be able to  _smell_ him. Ricky didn’t try to suppress the smile that rose along his lips. Pushing the sleeves of his jacket up, he leaned over his journal and pieced together some lyrics he’d been toying with.

 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but Ricky found himself blinking up from his work, brow furrowed, chin propped on his fist, gazing stupidly at the bathroom door. It was open, the fan was off and the light was on. Getting up, touching the red marks left on his cheek from his knuckles, he walked towards the doorway slowly. Wedging his pen between his ear and his beanie, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, groaning when he saw what Chris was doing. He watched his singer slowly push plum-purple lipstick into the lines of his lips. “We don’t have time for this!”

He checked his phone. It was after eleven already. At this point, they could easily be late meeting Sköld.

“What are you trying to do? Fuck him?”

The question was, what was  _he_  doing fussing at Chris like that?

The Chris in the mirror parted his lips and capped the lipstick, sticking it in the pocket of his pants. Pressing his lips together slowly, his relaxed them again and his tongue flicked out against his labret in thought. “Why?” He stood up straight, turning towards Ricky, gazing down at him with an almost smug expression. “I look good, don’t I?” He kind of nodded, smiling, arching his eyebrows, tugging at a lock of his own shiny, shampooed hair. “If I did fuck him, it would help production move along…”

Ricky didn’t even want to think about it. “You are so fucking dumb…” He glanced in the mirror at himself, looking tired and naked-faced, free of makeup. He nudged the edge of his beanie back in place. “You’d look this damn good every day if you took the time to shower.”

Chris just watched him.

Perplexed, Ricky scowled back up at him. “Living with you isn’t easy, dude, okay?”

“You yelled at me this morning.” That same even, blank smile.

“I’m sorry, okay? We’re gonna be late.”

Lifting a finger, Chris touched Ricky’s lips as if making a point. Fucking weirdo. “You’re buying me dessert.”

Ricky just shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, whatever. You’ll get dessert. Sköld already said he was footing the bill, though.”

“You’ll buy me a  _second_  dessert, then.”

Cocking an eyebrow, dumbfounded, Ricky let his eyes wander down Chris’ front, to the way his skinny jeans hugged his hips and then back up. “Okay,” he said quietly, barely audible. Then, more loudly, “Let’s  _go_ \- we’re going to be late.”

He got two steps out of the bathroom and towards the door when he realized Chris wasn’t following and spun back around to look at him. Chris stood with his head tilted, eyes soft and somehow quiet. “Stop bossing me around.”

Ricky watched as Chris’ cheeks flushed lightly and felt his own get hot. He swallowed. “Okay… Sorry.”

Chris nodded and they both stood there, watching one another, the sound of Los Angeles

traffic buzzing away in the background somewhere far away. Opening his mouth, Ricky grunted, and snatched the keys from beside the door. The words “come on” died on his lips and he licked them instead. “I’ll drive.”

 

A meeting was a meeting was a meeting. After Sköld paid for lunch, drinks, and Chris’ dessert, and had gone, Chris and Ricky continued to sit there in the warm Los Angeles sunshine, neither of them quite ready to return to the cramped apartment yet. True to his word, Ricky ordered a thick slice of chocolate cake for Chris and a black coffee for himself. They didn’t talk much- and thoughts of the  _Infamous_  album were in the far recesses of Ricky’s head- as they sat there, but Ricky had a lot of other thoughts flitting around his head like summer honeybees as he watched Chris lift little bites to his wide mouth. The sweep of Chris’ tongue over his bottom lip, the way his honey-colored eyes could look so dark in the sunlight when their eyes met, the little rogue smiles that carved half dimples out of the corners of Chris’ mouth gave Ricky lots to think about, indeed. He smiled to himself behind the rim of his white china coffee cup and shook his head. Across the table, Chris slowly licked a bit of chocolate cream off of his fingertip and returned the smile.


End file.
